Nighttime, Deep in the countryside, England, 1400 AD
It is night, but then it is always night for those who know no other life. A walled off stone mansion sits below a pale moon, surrounding it a twisting black forest lines its stone magnificence. This English country home in day looks set apart from time, dark charcoal stone erects a distant beacon for those who live preserved from the passage of the ages, often standing alone but at this moment they are the very center of the world.
It is the Aula Regis, the meeting of the King’s Court. Long ago it was decided no one of us could rule alone, it was too much power in the hands of one individual, and turmoil was always the result. We keep the name for the court is now the King. Once every hundred the Elders gather, unless a matter of great urgency arises to bring them together, and when they do, they direct the fate openly of our bloodlines.
Today the mansion has many horses, carriages, escorts, guards and cloaked mercenaries flanking the doors. Some bring banners of nobility, others only a meager collection of those they trust. Inside a rich, gothic black décor greets all visitors. The furniture is seductive in its opulence, refined in its construction, and those inside treat the gathering with the utmost respect. Even the most powerful of the Actus Curiae, the Sovereignty, and the Emetua, each a collection of prestigious houses, do not bring their feuds here openly. However behind the veil of smiles and respectful bows of heads, nothing is ever as it seems, and no one is ever above the danger of losing all they have worked for or cling to.
***We are Vampires, not a friendly storybook fantasy, but the terror under your bed that you grow up being told isn’t there. We are what waits for you when the last light goes out, and all hope drains from your eyes. Worst of all, we are your greatest seduction, because at the end of it all, you will think yourself blessed and stand in awe as you walk towards your blissful end.
A voice whispers finishing the reading of his teachers written word. "William Bohun, my Sire and Mentor, may you find the eternal rest your enemies denied you in life."
Robert Bohun, Cenwulf to those who have known him through the generations, placed the parchment back on the shelf. Six hundred years he had lived, and through that time he had been taught by the best of us all. Last week his Master had been sent to the eternal darkness, ashes now in the ground. Robert was now the Elder, and his enemies might come for him next. A founding part of the Actus Curiae, the house of Bohun had birthed a violent history throughout the ages, behind the scenes as always, but they had many, many enemies to contend with because of it.
Wearing a dark black tunic, of the finest fabric money could buy, and fitted seamlessly to his body, he stood by the window. While he waited, the black haired, hazel eyed vampire stood watching the moon through cut in the wall. It was perhaps the only thing in this unlife that remained eternal. The grey herald of nature remained a part of him, ever since he was born into this life, it was the first thing he had seen to be true in both worlds, for there was no deception from the moon's luminance. As he aged, the grey of the moon began to match his skin more and more, even if he looked as young as the day he fell six hundred years ago, inside he carried the many scars the passing of the centuries had brought to his door.
It would soon be time to convene the Elders, and experience his first test as Master of house Bohun. Along oak floors, footsteps approached his room, and slowly his eyes turned to gaze upon the open doorway. He smirked to himself while he awaited the summons, six hundred years old, and today he would be the youngest at the table.
(ooc: Please read and apply in our OOC thread
before posting, thank you. Those involved jump in and drive the story as and when you like. When we get going, if you are interested in developing a character long term by all means let me know as well.)